of snakes and cherry blossoms
by heynofair
Summary: ―but just the two we love. [Oneshots collection] Latest: prehension - ["See me." In the dead of night, the line between far shore and near shore, blurs. They meet, and it's 23 years too late; but they might as well.] Ratings will vary.
1. adjudge (Blank Period)

This will be updated based on my 'word of the day' feed. Feel free to drop word prompts for me and I'll see what I come up with. No holds barred.

My only rule is that I'll only write words I don't already know, which was kind of the point when I signed up for the word of the day thingy.

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**adjudge** (verb) – to pronounce formally; to declare

[Haruno Sakura. On, being Uchiha Sakura.]

―

Her husband is beautiful, with inky locks falling to a sharp jawline and large, powerful hands; and fathomless mismatch eyes that let her peer deep, deep into his lily-white heart. She still remembers the pretty, half-broken young boy in her childhood that she's chased, and perhaps only recently stopped chasing, despite how much she's proclaimed otherwise.

It is that he's so beautiful, so pure that he stains—was corrupted so easily by the nefarious hands coveting that purity.

Maybe that's why he's always been the private sort, in both words and actions. It's neither by choice nor nature, but nurture. Knowledge is a weapon, and the more of it you give out, the more likely it will be used against you. Every academy kid is taught this principle, but he's learnt it and embraced it more than most.

He never tells her, but it occurred to her a few months into their journey as she watched him provide only the bare minimum of information to secure cooperation from local authorities—just the night before he was writing down false names for them both on the inn's registry. All she thought about as they were welcomed into the small village, was how lonely it must have been for him, how unsafe the world must seem still, even with all the powers he wielded.

She tucked herself against his chest that night and complained about the chilly mountain weather so that he would hold her close and, just maybe, remember she was there. Always would be. For him.

He's a hard man to love, so full of doubts and regrets, but it got easier once she knew to watch for the in-betweens, for the words unsaid and acts undone. With him, there is never a grand gesture or declaration. Only overly-intellectualized care and silent companionship.

He doesn't go out of his way to love, and he perhaps doesn't have to. Shouldn't, even.

His frosty exterior is not a shield like many might think. Rather, it's a lid, and she has learnt firsthand just what it keeps contained. Unadulterated love. Raw feelings at their purest. True to Uchiha form, he loves with his entire being and then some more, and she thinks to herself sometimes, as she writhes beneath him, how he manages to hide such passion so completely under daylight. She would have sooner burst into a million pieces.

Loving him isn't easy, but it is more than fulfilling. She is contented just being by his side.

They never dated, and their wedding was a quiet affair, decided on after she told him of her pregnancy, and done with just the two of them and a government witness as they signed their names and sealed the document with their fingerprints. By the time they left the building, it still hadn't felt real.

It still doesn't feel real now. That she is Uchiha Sakura.

Nothing has changed. They still write down fake names for the inns, still travel in silence most of the time, and fight together with effortless teamwork. He still protects her from harm she's perfectly capable of neutralizing by herself, and just does it more blatantly now that he can point at her still-flat stomach as cause.

There's a strange, pervading sense of anticlimax. Like there's a threshold she's failed to cross. She wonders if it isn't disappointment she's feeling; if it would have taken festive celebration and being surrounded by friends and loved ones to make this milestone feel official.

But she hasn't thought about her own wedding in ages, the notion of which having faded into a silly pipe dream the night he's first left the village. She didn't entertain it when they shared their awkward first kiss, not even when they started sleeping together.

He's always been her endgame, and how she gets there (and stays there) doesn't matter. Hasn't mattered for quite a while now.

She looks up from scrutinizing the tomato in her hand and follows his chakra signature that she's memorized by heart and soul to find his tall back before a small, unassuming stall.

"How about it? Sixty ryō for the head. You won't find a better price for fish this fresh!"

"Hn, forty-five."

"Tsk, ya trying to kill my business? Fifty-five, and that's final."

"Forty-five. The shop over there is selling for forty."

"Pah, Hara's!? They freeze their fish overnight, son."

Sasuke turns his head to look at her as she comes up beside him. She smiles, almost a knee-jerk reaction when meeting his impassive gaze and noticing the way it softens infinitesimally on her. She's loved and no one can tell her otherwise.

"This your girlfriend, son? Come on. Buy it for her so she can cook you a delicious meal tonight."

She acknowledges the shop owner, a middle-aged man with a tan, gaunt frame. He scratches his bearded chin with a good-natured grin, and she understands he meant no snide remark but still feels mildly irritated that she is expected to cook, especially because Sasuke is better at it than her.

That said, Sakura isn't sure why he's trying to bargain for fish. They usually go for dishes that are simple to prepare on the road, and if they feel like getting fancy then they just go to a restaurant. But if it's this fish he wants, she should play nice and help knock down the price-

"Wife."

She turns to him, surprised.

"Hm?" She hears the shop owner say.

"She's my wife." He tells the older man, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. (_It is, _she reminds herself.)

The owner laughs. "That so? You're a lucky fella, she seems a good one. So, don't be stingy and buy it for her."

"Hn, Saku-" He looks to her again and chokes on her name, panic flickering past his mismatched eyes, his entire body tensing in the classic fight-or-flight mode.

"O-oi, what's wrong, lass?"

She blinks and notices belatedly the wetness on her cheeks. "N-no no…" She snaps her face down, wiping at the tears blurring her vision. "It's just the hormones…I think."

"What, your girl's with child!?"

"…Aa." She feels his arm hesitantly come around her shoulders and pull her to his strong chest, which only serves to intensify her tears.

"What the heck! Forty-five ryō, it is. Take the damn fish head as my congrats to you two lovebirds!"

.

As they walk away from the marketplace, the fish head dangling inside a bag next to her leg, her eyes and nose still prickle from the tears that have long dried up. He keeps shooting not-so-discreet concerned glances her way, so she gives him her best reassuring grin.

"I'm fine, Sasuke-kun. The hormones will make me do weird things so you better get used to it for the upcoming months."

He stops in the middle of the crowded street and regards her with stark bemusement. "Are you telling me to get used to seeing you cry?"

She laughs, shaking her head, and hugs his arm to pull him along. She wonders if he even realizes just how many things he's confessed with that single question. That he's not used to seeing her tears. That he can't bear to see her cry. That he's on edge and feeling helpless.

So she rests her head on his shoulder and promises to herself, she is Uchiha Sakura. She is his wife, and she will never be used against him.

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**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading! Happy Good Couple day.


	2. milliner (Modern AU)

Tried a different approach to storytelling.

Thank you very much to those who left feedback and favs. I'm glad you enjoyed the last one.

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**milliner **(noun) – one who makes and sells hats

[It's only one side of the story.]

—

Ah, who's this? Come, come. Closer to the bed, won't you please? These eyes don't work as well anymore.

That's it. You look like a new face. Haven't seen you 'round here before, have I? My mind is the only good thing I have left… Ah, a volunteer! First time? Welcome, welcome. Hate to be a bother but would you fetch me another blanket from the cubby? It's a tad chilly.

Thank you. Always a pleasure to have you folks 'round. Always so gracious to old men on their death beds.

No no, don't bother sugar-coating, kiddo. Look at all these machines. I know this body's limits. Surprised me holding out this long, y'know, but I can feel it.

Hahaha, *coughs* a big softy, aren't cha. Know what, let's forget the maudlin stuff. How 'bout a story. Tell me 'bout yourself.

Ah, not much of a storyteller are you. It's fine, it's fine. How 'bout I tell you one? Pardon the stereotype, but I have many lengthy ones befitting of my age. We're both here for a while anyway.

Ha, you don't say. What do you like? Comedy? Thriller? Ah, I'm afraid I don't have action *chuckles*. Romance?

Mystery, you say. Hmm, speaking of, there's one that I still don't quite know what to make of. Two people to be exact. Oh, you're interested?

Sit down. Make yourself comfy.

So, I used to be in Bear before here. Ran a rickety trinket shop in a small town. You know Abi? Right, it was small and quiet before the development project. Partly why I listened to the kids and came here.

It was a Thursday, I remember. We were witnessing the kind of humid heat that soaked like a small shower. I can still smell the old leather in the shop that day. The place was starting to show its age, but it kept me busy.

I was wearing this exact sweater, in fact. It don't look like much anymore, but the wife made and gifted it on my 68th year. *coughs* I had to turn on the AC, you see, even though it wasn't the best for my throat. Beat getting a heat stroke living alone y'know, if you ignore the bill.

Not to mention, my good friend Uru lived ten minutes away. She got the town's eatery and ah…one hell of a mean slice a' cake for dessert. She checked on me from time 'a time. Hardly the neighbourly thing to do to give her a heart attack lying on the floor, don't cha think?

But ah, I digress. So, here was a small town where the people were few and the land thick with trees and untamed grass. People just didn't visit there, and those that did were only following a scenic route to get to the Haze National Park two towns over.

It wasn't peak season either, so I thought I'd just close the shop early. No one was gonna be in the mood for old trinkets in that torrid weather anyway.

Was just 'bout to turn on the TV when I heard the doorbell tinkled over the AC's petulant hum. I was just happy to be proven wrong, haha.

So, this tall, dark-haired stranger stood in my doorway and removed his sunglasses to cast a wide glance all 'round. Then his dark eyes locked on me and walked straight up to the counter. Slowly, y'know. But the sureness in his steps struck my attention.

Many customers have walked through my door, but they were never like that – sure. Yeah, they had a purpose coming in—to tour, to wander and browse, but those were never purposeful. That young man was.

It was curious, to say the least.

He was young, perhaps late twenties or early thirties. Clean-shaven. The sleeves of his button-down were neatly rolled up to his elbows, and I distinctly remember the expensive silver watch on his right wrist.

Very handsome lad, that one, and I'm not exaggerating. Had all the sharp, brooding features you find on a magazine's cover. Girls woulda ate him right up. *chuckles* His looks aren't ones to forget.

He wasn't much for pleasantry, though, and only gave a curt nod in greeting before turning to the five hats I had on display. With some proper city accent, he kept his tone low and to the point when he asked me if those were all. Prolly used to the big selections in the city, y'know.

I figured he was thinking of a lady, so I told him I made them myself. The ladies do fancy those handmade stuff, don't they?

Ah yes, I made hats *coughs* in my free time. Nothing special, kiddo. No need for empty flattery. But ah, that's the kinda reaction I usually got. That young man didn't even blink *chuckles*.

He just gave one of the hats a brief tug to test the material and just told me, "Hn, it's well made." Haha, just that. Sounded more like an offhanded statement than affirmation of his interest or even nicety, y'know. Like he was giving an answer to a boring pop quiz.

By then I was growing a little nervous. Now I don't claim to read people that well, but I did get a lot of practice with tourists standing behind the counter. I couldn't read this tourist at all, if he was even one, and it worried me.

He had that casual sort of strength wired in his form. Towered a full head over me when I could still stand straight, mind you. I remember comparing to his arms that were easily twice my spindly ones.

You think I was overacting, don't you? Haha, I suppose. Living alone at a fragile age, you always form some sort of paranoia. So that you can look back and say you saw it coming. Protect at least your sense of control.

Though I never saw that coming…but ah, I'm jumping ahead.

I asked him if he was going to make a purchase, and he shook his head. I was pretty disappointed. Not as a salesman but a craftsman. I suppose you never grow old enough as a creator to stop caring what others think of your creations.

But then he told me he'd be back with his companion to choose, thanked me and was outta the shop before I could get a word in. Haha. I decided he wasn't the unreasonable sort, at least. Always a welcomed conclusion, that.

No no, I did get to meet his companion. That's not the mystery, haha. *coughs*

So, he came back 'bout an hour later, and she wasn't what I expected. Hiding behind his broad back was a timid little thing. A teenager. Long dark hair. Rather pale, even for city-borns. It seemed like she was curling inward as much as possible, so petite even in the cluttered space of my little ol' shop. Or maybe her escort was just too large in juxtaposition.

She looked at me, and her eyes were a striking green. Said hello. Very courteous kid.

He called her Sakura and told her to pick a hat, so she hesitantly approached me. In that aspect, you reminded me of her a little. Hahaha, I meant no offence.

So, she was looking at my display, and I noticed her hair looked damp. Thoroughly damp, y'know. Not like sweat from the heat, though she was certainly glowing from it and could use some extra coverage. The white one-piece she had on was barely protecting her china skin from the scorch.

She had some real trouble picking, I tell you. Kept looking back to him for rescue, which he gave none, ever the reticent lad. I figured some sort of point was being made between them so I didn't interfere. Only told her of the full-length mirror in the corner and she could take the hats over there.

What was that? Naw, nothing went missing afterwards. This isn't that kinda story, hahaha- *coughs hacks* Oh dearie, excuse me. Patience now, kiddo.

While we wait for her decision, I tried breaking some ice. Real tough work seeing as he was a whole big block of it. *chuckles*

Kept his eyes on the young lady the whole time we were speaking—or I was. His answers were kept short and mostly just one word. A lot of hn's and noncommittal aa's, aye. The few times he looked my way, there was this calculating look in his eyes I couldn't really place.

Paranoia can work both ways, y'know, so I thought from his point of view, I could be the serial killer waiting to herd him and Sakura into my torture chamber. *chuckles*

So anyways, after one such calculating look, he abruptly volunteered a lot of information. I thought it odd even right then, because his body language became much more animated as well. I figured he'd decided even if I was out to stalk and kill his family, he could just snap me in half, haha.

I found out he's the uncle, and that made a lot of things make sense to me. They didn't look much alike at all, and to be honest I was *coughs* I was wondering of their relations. Lived too long and seen too much, y'know.

He told me of his sister, Sakura's mother, resting in the car parked outside. That he was replacement driver because the father cancelled on their trip. That he was exhausted from driving all the way from Leaf, because no one else in the car could.

All my unasked questions were answered just like that, and it was just odd. A little uncomfortable, maybe. Yes, yes, like having your mind read.

Now, I also thought he sounded blasé telling me these things. Like he was recounting someone else's story, y'know. But I chalked it up to his exhaustion. He did look pretty out of it here and there.

Eventually, young Sakura settled on a hat and came back to the counter to ask her uncle for opinion.

I hadn't pegged him for a teaser, but did he tease her, hahaha.

"You're drowning under that thing. Chin up and let me see your face."

"It's not about hiding your forehead."

"Hn, it suits you. You look less like a brat now."

He said all those with a straight face, too.

"Sha-na-ro," I think she said on several occasions. Is that a lingo from somewhere, do you know? Hm. Well, whatever it was *chuckles* I wish I could let you hear the way she said it in exasperation. It was lovely watching them. Their banter.

Always warms my heart seeing families get along, you see. Heavens know I've been far too long without mine. The kids don't even come visit that much anymore.

Do you get along with yours?

I see. Well, for me- Ah, forget 'bout that. I'm digressing.

So, after some back and forth Sakura took a liking to a green paper-braid sunhat with a wide brim, one of my newer products. I told her as much, and her eyes—the green in them practically lit up in this childlike delight, y'know. Her uncle, taciturn git, apparently hadn't told her, and she was full of honest and open awe when she found out 'bout my hobby.

Very lovable lass, that one. I could see right away how the ice block behind her was so taken.

I told *hem* I told her it was nothing special and that I used to make them professionally back in Rain before meeting my wife and moving to Abi. She naturally asked where my wife was.

By then, I had already been by myself for ten years already. My wife had five years over me, y'see. We *hem* We always knew she was more likely to be gone before me, but she still left sooner than anyone would expect of a woman like her.

Sakura, that sweet thing, panicked and was so sorry 'bout bringing up the subject. I assured her I was done mourning. That I was just glad my wife wasn't the one left behind.

Ah, that got both of the younglings into a solemn gloom as they shared a look. I just didn't realize at the time it extended far past empty sympathy.

I tried to clear the atmosphere by asking if they'd like to purchase, and Sakura practically pushed the young man up to me, haha. I realized rather belatedly that it might have looked like I'd told them a sob story to gain their pity and compel business.

I wanted to clear that up, but it felt moot especially because they were going to buy a hat regardless. And once they walked out the door, they'd go on with their lives, and I mine.

We'd never cross paths again, so the nuances of our interactions hardly matter, I thought.

He paid in cash and gave me a large bill so I had to go to the back to get enough change. When I returned, I just knew with certainty I'd walked in on something very rare, very private.

That young man was smiling. Just a tiny little smirk, but ah, the dark eyes that I thought were disconcerting black pits just came alive on his face. He looked years younger.

He told her, "It suits you; I mean it."

And young Sakura just blushed and grinned up at him, my paper-braid creation perching prettily on her head.

Ah, that look on your face. You're beginning to catch on, aren't you? You think it immoral?

Hahaha, you have strong opinions. Well, it's not my place to debate you. I'm almost finished. Won't you listen till the end and share with me your thoughts? Even after these years, I'm still not quite sure what to think.

Excellent. So, I was also at a loss of what to think or feel 'bout the scene before me, which quickly dissipated when they realized my presence. I gave them the change and they left. When that doorbell tinkled and the door clicked shut, I knew I would never see them again.

Or so I thought.

I turned the TV on and I saw them. A different them, mind you, but unmistakably them.

The news anchors spoke with grimness in their voices.

Uchiha Sasuke. 29. Office worker. Suspected of trespass, assault, murder, and kidnapping.

Yamamoto, née Haruno Sakura. 16. Student. Victim of Uchiha Sasuke.

Their portraits were set side by side. It was the very same young man that had stood on the other side of my counter, just in a suit and tie, and though she had a shock of pink hair, she was _Sakura, _with her heart-shaped face and field-green eyes.

They said he had a past of drugs, violence and gang membership, and it sent an ugly chill down my spine.

They said he attacked the Yamamotos, adopted parents of Sakura, in their home in the dead of night and left them to die. And took her.

I-I felt sick. And I couldn't reconcile for a moment what I had just learnt and what I knew. Or thought I knew. I don't think I've ever quite reconciled the two, to be honest.

Then I thought 'bout the close proximity I had been in with a cold-blooded murderer.

I thought 'bout that murderer near a child.

They urged anyone who knew anything to call in, and I couldn't get to the phone fast enough. Although *coughs* although *coughs hacks wheeze* all I wanted was to run to the bathroom and put my face in the toilet bowl.

The phone was old, you know. Took a bit to register the number and start dialling. Meanwhile I continued to stare at the news and thought about how Sakura hid behind her kidnapper.

I thought about the word victim.

I thought about all the details that were off in their interactions with each other. Or with me. The nuanced little pieces that were falling into place in a narrative.

How there prolly wasn't a mother waiting in the car. Or a father that cancelled on his family.

And how wrong it all could have gone had I turned the TV on at any point of doing business with them.

I also thought about the dull, dead eyes of the pink-haired girl on the news, and contrasted them against the glittering green that had looked upon my humble hat collection.

I thought about his smile.

Most of all, though, I thought about hers.

Yes, I thought about hers…

Oh, it looks like it's time for you to go. Shoulda said something. Don't let me keep you!

You're curious about the end of their story? I didn't follow the news very closely, so I'm afraid I don't know. Told you it was a mystery, didn't I? Hahaha. Makes you wonder, don't it?

Did I report them? Hmm, what do you think? What would you have done in my shoe?

I know it's a lot to digest. I'm a little tired myself, so how 'bout you take some time to think it over at home. We can continue next time?

No problem. You were lovely company to have. Stay safe out there now, kiddo. Let me know your thoughts, aight?


	3. bilious (Boruto Era)

**bilious** (adjective) – sickly; cranky, ill-humored

[Sakura's not well. And Sasuke commits high treason. Fluff. No really.]

—

"Oi, bastard, what's been crawling up your ass lately?"

Sasuke spares Naruto a quiet glare, setting the teapot down on the table mat, and returns to the omelet on the stove. That was literally their first interaction since the bastard grunted (and also glared) at Naruto after opening the door for him.

He sighs and reaches over the table to pour himself a cup.

Naruto may not be the brightest minds around, but he knows this isn't just the usual early morning mood. The bastard has been a stick in the mud for days now, the few times Naruto has run into him, and not even the offer of a spar managed to clear that up.

Tch, ungrateful bastard.

Sakura is in the throes of another coughing fit in a different room. Naruto rests his chin over knitted fingers and watches as Sasuke flips the omelet one last time before turning off the fire. He's come straight over without breakfast, and the delicious fragrance of burnt egg and oil is making his stomach grumble.

But he's sure the bastard hasn't bothered to make extras for him.

Seriously ungrateful.

After packing the food into a bentō and cleaning up (it's amazing, in a sense, to see the bastard be all domestic), Sasuke returns to the table with a plate of sliced tomatoes and sits down across from him, pulling out a scroll to read.

Naruto raps prosthetic fingers on the table as he nurses his tea.

"Oi, you."

Sasuke offers no indication of acknowledgement. Out of sight, Sakura is coughing again.

"You didn't argue with Sakura-chan or anything, did you?" he says and sees the beginnings of an even fouler mood whirling in mismatched eyes.

"It's so rare that you're home." That stumps whatever anger that was there, and Sasuke glances away (and Naruto feels bad for hitting where it hurts but-). "You better not be showing that sourpuss mug to Sakura-chan every day, bastard."

"You're noisy."

Naruto swears, sometimes it's like he never grew a day over twelve. "Now look here-"

Bare feet patter along the hardwood floor, and Sarada appears in the doorway, fully geared—for a mission, he believes. "Lord Seventh! Good morning!" A grin breaks over her face that Naruto can't help reciprocating.

"Morning, Sarada-chan!"

"What are you doing here? Boruto said you were super busy with something."

"Just thought I'd drop by and check up on your Mama."

"Oh, you shouldn't have-"

He puts the teacup down with a decisive clink and waves a dismissive hand. "Is she better?"

She giggles. "Much! Mama's been raring to go back to work."

"Uh-uh!" He wags a finger. "I said two weeks and I meant it."

"Yes! She's coming so please remind her."

Sarada comes into the kitchen. "Oh, morning, Papa!" Sasuke hn's back and tells her breakfast is on the stove, but Naruto doesn't miss the sharp glare briefly directed his way. Seriously…

"Just what is your problem these days, bastard?"

Sasuke stares back at him for a length, before succinctly answering: "You."

"Why I oughta-"

"Don't mind Papa, Lord Seventh. He hasn't been sleeping well."

He looks over to Sarada popping a couple of bread slices into the toaster and notching it. She leans against the bar with a look that says, _I have dirt,_ and Naruto smirks conspiratorially at the juicy notion.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"You see, Mama's been-" is all he manages to hear before a fist unceremoniously crashes against the side of his face with a force strong enough to dislocate his jaw.

The bastard doesn't hold back at all, he thinks; and disperses.

.

.

.

"Nuwhyo!" He jolts upright in his seat, gaining Shikamaru's immediate look of concern.

"What's wrong, Hokage-sama?"

Naruto blinks a few times, the ugly crunch of a broken jaw still ringing in his ears, and he can only be glad physical sensations do not get transferred back as well. Once the shock wears off, a great sense of unjust washes over him. (He wanted that dirt, and he's about 99% sure he's entitled to it as Hokage and only best friend to Uchiha Sasuke!).

He slams a hand over the documents on his desk and bares his teeth, ignoring the slightly spooked Shikamaru before him.

"That bastard!"

.

.

.

"What happened!?" Her voice is still a little hoarse and probably shouldn't be used for shouting.

Sakura rushes to the kitchen following the sounds of skirmish to see her husband standing over a chair ajar on its back. His shoulders are tense and the muscles in his back coiled for battle.

"A-anata?"

"Aa, Sakura." He relaxes his stance and goes to pick up the chair. "I made breakfast."

She glances over to the bar to find Sarada with hands still covering her mouth in muted horror. Independent of the atmosphere, the toaster beside her emits a cheery _ding_ and ejects two nicely browned slices, filling the kitchen with the mellow scent of fresh toasts.

"Papa!"

"Hn."

"How could you!?"

"Eat your breakfast, Sarada. You'll be late." He sits back down where Sakura assumes he's been sitting before, if the plate of tomatoes is any indication.

"Papa is seriously shannaro sometimes!" Sarada shakes her head and begins spreading jam on the toasts. "Mama, do you want toast?"

She coughs from a sudden itch in her throat. "Just, one please, sweetie."

She looks at the half-empty teacup across from her husband, then back to him as he lazily munches on a slice of tomato while reading his scroll.

.

.

It's only him and her by the end of breakfast, and after cleaning up, they move to the living room. Or more accurately, he drags her over to the couch as soon as she is done drying her hands.

"W-what is it?" She tries to catch his gaze for clues to no avail as he sits her down on one end.

"Stay there." He imparts and leaves the room. When he returns, he simply hands her a scroll, much to her growing confusion.

It's the medical scroll she's been reading to kill time since Naruto practically grounded her. She's not surprised Sasuke knew which one it was amongst the hundreds in her study, followed her as he did the past few days, but that doesn't explain much.

He sits down next to her and Sakura nearly jumps off the couch when she feels his hand on her thigh. "A-anata!?" His head is already on her lap, a warm, pleasant weight, and it hits her again how much she misses him, even after spending nearly a week joined at the hip with him.

He shuffles around for a comfortable position and settles for lying on his side.

"Anata, I don't think-"

"It's the fifth day," he says, eyes resolutely closed; and everything makes sense.

She smiles, putting the scroll down, and brushes his bangs away from his face. "Honestly, Sasuke-kun…I told you I didn't want to get you sick."

"And I told you it wasn't your problem."

For that, she pulls hard at his cheek. "It is, too!" He tenses from the pain. His eyes snap open and a purple marble stubbornly glares up at her. She holds that glare, waiting to hear his comeback.

He doesn't have one. His gaze drops away, and he closes his eyes again.

"I don't care if I get sick," said in an almost petulant mutter, and she releases him.

"But I do, Sasuke-kun." She smooths over the red on his cheek, fingertips glowing green. "I do."

"Hn."

She can't help a small, wry grin then. "So you've been sulking and decided to take it out on Naruto." When she felt Naruto's chakra signature abruptly disappear from their home, she's had her suspicions, but really…

Sasuke shrugs against her, but she can tell he's a lot less nonchalant than he tries to appear. "He was being nosy."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You punched the Hokage because he was being nosy?"

In a quick motion, he rolls over to his other side and buries his face against her, his nose nuzzling her bare skin and sending a flush of colors to her cheeks. His arm wraps around her back in a firm hug. "Stop squirming. My head hurts."

That was his cue for her to heal him, and the finality in his voice means her schedule for at least the rest of the morning is set. Running her hand through his hair, she sends weak chakra pulses into his scalp and discovers what she already knows: he doesn't have a headache.

She shakes her head but continues to massage his scalp. She supposes she will spoil him today. And if he catches her cold, well that's on him.

As his gradually steadying breaths warm her stomach, she smiles to herself.

Her husband really is so shannaro sometimes.


	4. regnant (Political Fantasy AU)

**regnant **(adjective) – reigning; exercising authority

["Then, now, and always. This tie between them is til death." Sakura. Forward-looking. The things lost and gained. An underdog's ascension.]

—

They call themselves Akatsuki.

The volume is turned all the way down; she stares at the laptop glaring orange in her dark study room.

Dawn—of a new era, they claim, and they've brought along the fire and destruction of rebirth.

The news shows a burning sky and black, coiling smoke; a proud historical landmark, an entire section of the great city reduced to snapped rebars and broken rubbles.

It might have been the work of many, but watching the fire all she can see is him.

Her dear older cousin.

She drops her head into her hands, and imagines her shoulder blades creak and crumble from the powerlessness settling over them.

The fire glows brightly even through her closed eyelids. For a moment it feels as though she's there, burning and wasting away.

But the reality is that she isn't. She's here, safe and sound, and separated from the blood and carnage by the thin film of the screen.

And about a thousand miles of flight from Konoha.

She thinks about her cousin, looking upon the mass as if they're puppets and the razor-thin strings are wound around his fingers.

She thinks about her father, a near-stranger for all intent and purpose, trying to hold it all together in the Hokage Tower, while the rest of the council commence the customary finger-pointing.

She thinks about the millions of people (her people, she dares think) caught suddenly, fearfully at the forefront of a war they never knew was brewing in the background.

Her heart goes out to them all.

Father said once, she was too good. Cared too much, too soft to ever do anything, and perhaps he was right.

Perhaps, though, he was wrong (like he is on so many other things) because she knows she can be heartless too.

His blood through and through, she too knows how to completely ignore the cries and screams she's sure are echoing out of earshot, every second of every day of her sheltered little life.

And then there's this other part of her; this embittered, anarchistic part that's just waiting for it all to burn down to the ground.

It apparently soon will.

A not altogether unexpected end.

Konoha is corrupted. For all the beautiful people who fill its streets, all the courageous individuals who have led it, loved it and sacrificed for it, the truth remains that it is corrupted to the very core, rotting from the grounds up.

A sigh escapes her lips. She shuts the laptop and hugs her fluffy nightgown tighter around herself. The darkness that falls over her vision chills her to the bones.

"What now, Director?"

Her eyes flicker up to the pair of dark eyes outlined by blue morning light. Sasuke stands there on the other side of her desk, blends so well into the black with his uniform suit and tie, she's forgotten he's there.

And yet for the longest time, his was a constant presence by her side.

She's missed that. Missed him. But there are things you can no longer say at twenty like you did when you were eight and still thought the whole world would be your oyster.

She lowers her gaze away, trying not to linger on his prosthetic left arm as she does so.

He's always read her too well, and she doesn't want him to right now. For good measure, she spins around in her chair to face the window. Three-inch thick, floor-to-ceiling slabs of glass reveal to her the quiet calm below, the tranquil Kiri docks doused in silvery mist.

"This is my post, Sasuke." _Kun_, she desperately wants to add, but doesn't.

Her post. Her insulated bubble. Her cage.

The silence is tangible enough to choke on, and stretches on for long enough, it sparks a small hope he would let this go.

"Of course." His tone is light and unassuming when he speaks, but she flinches from it anyway. "And what will be mine?"

She bites her lip harder and refuses to say another word. It's not her call to make. She's done; it's back to her duty now, and phenomenal specimen that he is, he's not part of her research.

She's only made her move again this one time because she's been sure no harm would come to her or her little bubble. Or, more importantly, to him (_her _Sasuke-kun).

But it wasn't enough, was it? Sasori still won.

No risk no gain, her cousin has taught her that himself.

But the last time she's dared to risk, she's lost Sasuke his arm, and her him.

"Director."

She squeezes closed her eyes. And remembers begging her father to spare him. Remembers swearing to high heavens she'd behave from then on.

She also remembers the tall back of Sasori, only fifteen and in the ardent glow of daybreak, hair and eyes fiery, so brilliantly red. Red, like the rebellion he now spearheads.

"Sakura."

She snaps to her feet and rounds on him in a second. He doesn't even blink.

He's crossing the line. She wants to shout. He's crossing the line to be digging up a different tie between them and he better bury it right back and bury it deep.

He only holds her glare in that non-challenging way she knows is only a ruse, the deceptively submissive front he's mastered to an art, to survive in a society that believes his blood the greatest evil ever birthed by the planet.

But he and she don't argue. Not after everything that has happened. Certainly not before everything that hasn't.

Funny, though, how frequent their not-arguments are, considering how infrequently they get to meet these days.

His eyes are blood red now, the evidence of his mad legacy spinning lazily. How rare for him to be so transparent about his displeasure, but she supposes it's not something he needs to hide. Not before her.

He has never hidden from her, she remembers, and it placates her. Knocks the air out of her lungs at the same time, too, because she realizes she's forgotten that before she remembers.

And she remembers Sasuke.

A younger and much less angry Sasuke (but quite angry still), choosing her, the pale, towheaded child over the flaming beacon that was Sasori.

Sasori, who's making differences, even if they are of the questionable sorts. Sasori, whose grand vision and greatness she could never match up to.

Where has that left them? Her in indefinite banishment, and Sasuke on a tighter leash than any other Root member.

_And yet, here he is._

Her chest constricts.

Here he is, and he's risking everything, his life, his dream to restore his clan—all for what?

Her gaze drops to his arm. In a moment of wayward thinking, she imagines wrapping her hand around that metal wrist.

She imagines that's when he'll flinch. He'll flinch but he won't pull away, and she'll squeeze him reassuringly, even though he can't feel it, and rest her head against his chest where he can.

He'll smell like iron and gunpowder and death, which he's secretly self-conscious of, but which she won't mind. Never.

(Because to her he will always, always be life and black pine and blooming jasmine, and that vibrant flower garden back in the Konoha mansion; and carefree laughs under afternoon suns, and small hands holding onto even smaller hands, and a silly pinky promise-)

She'll just listen closely, carefully to his strong, steady heartbeats and attempt to match hers up to them. Just in fragile hope that she could be as steadfast as well.

But she doesn't do any of those. That's not how it works anymore.

She's Director Haruno, and he's Sasuke of the Roots.

She lifts her gaze to his again.

In those lazily spinning eyes are willingness, and a bright anger he doesn't direct at her (never does). And also, certainty. Such confidence he holds. For her, for them, for this partnership. After everything that had gone wrong and can still go wrong.

She can't even begin to imagine what he's gone through these past three years. How many scars are hidden under that immaculately pressed suit of his. How many more there are on his heart, made deliberately hard as steel.

Three long years have not broken him, and they shouldn't have broken her either.

It's about time she risks again, too.

Strange. The old wives' tales insist those lazily spinning eyes could make people lose their minds, yet every time she looks into them, she always comes to her senses instead.

_He's alive. He's alive. He's alive._

She reminds herself of this fact, after spending so long pretending the opposite.

"What will we be doing?" he asks.

_Run away_, she wants to say. Sakura would in a heartbeat, but she's Director Haruno right now. And he's Sasuke of the Roots.

They'd be fine on the run. So, so fine; but no one else would be.

Konoha. The entirety of Fire Country. Milions and milions of people.

Because her father is quickly losing support, and if not her then ruthless Sasori. Or someone worse. Hopefully someone better—but until that is confirmed, she needs to play her part in this war.

She sucks in a breath, smells the iron and gunpowder deep in her lungs (all pine and jasmine), and squares her shoulders.

"We stop him."

_He's alive. He's alive._

Sasuke's alive, and she's sending him out to tangle with death again.

But he smiles, with the tiniest curve of his lips, an approving sort of smile.

Then all is wiped clean, his eyes fading back to a subdued shade of black. He clasps his arms behind him and stands at attention.

"Your order, Director."

Her next step is crystal clear. In the deep recesses of her mind, in between researching volatile compounds and tasteless, odorless poisons, she's continued to keep track of the important players, continued to amateurishly scheme.

Senju. Hyuuga. Uzumaki.

"Get me in touch with Orochimaru."

There's a culled silence, a stillness Root members have instead of, say, a gasp of surprise. He's contemplative before dipping his head in acknowledgement.

"Very well." And he heads for the door.

"Sasuke." _Kun_, she still has to keep herself from saying. _Be safe, _she wants to tell him.

But she's not allowed to do any of that. Can't be soft, and most of all cannot care too much. Not if she wants this to go anywhere.

She thinks about Sasori who's stopped in the middle of polishing his puppets collection to pat her on the head, smiling kindly.

She thinks about her father coldly telling her to pack for Kiri when he could have left her and Sasuke to the council's not-mercy.

She thinks about Sasuke and endless blue skies, and the promise two children made about changing the world, never realizing it was so much bigger than the mansion grounds they called home.

She thinks about them all before banishing them; waves them away like hazy plumes of smoke.

This war is complicated enough without the added chains and tethers of personal feelings.

Sasuke waits for her to speak and does not rushes. Because that's how he is, and that's how they are.

They're co-conspirators, partners-in-crime in this bloody power struggle, and loyalty is about a good enough label for this tie between him and her.

(And just maybe, if they make it to the other side of it all-)

"Don't fail me," she says with her arms crossed and her back straight, and he holds her gaze over his shoulder for a length.

The sunrise glows brighter by the seconds behind her, and it casts this warm glow on his profile that mellow out the sharper edges in his features; soften his eyes.

"Aa."

That single syllable, sounded in the deep timber of his voice is so cripplingly nostalgic. The door clicks shut; he's gone and it takes her everything not to collapse against her desk.

It takes her everything, but she stands tall and proud as she turns around and basks in the light of a new day.

And, she supposes, that's about good enough for now.


	5. miscue (Post-war Period)

**miscue **(noun, verb) – failing to respond to a cue; an inadvertent mistake

["They must call her foolish behind her back, but she supposes there are worse things to be." Sakura. Sasuke. An open window, and saving the other. Post-war fluffy angst. (But not angsty fluff, no).]

—

There's no denying that her office is cluttered. Sakura tries to keep it tidy, but the paperwork that steadily increases together with her responsibilities as Head Medic isn't so forgiving.

"Can I open the window?"

For a moment, there's a stab of self-consciousness that there are smells her colleagues might have been too tactful to point out.

"Go ahead, Sasuke-kun."

Without moving her gaze from her work, she tracks the faint signature of his chakra as he moves across the room to fiddle with the lock. Sai was in charge of keeping watch of him tonight, so they should have some leeway.

The scent of dew and earth fills her nostrils with the slight breeze that enters her office. Beneath her coat, a small wave of goosebumps climbs up her arms from the chilly air. She can hear the rustle of the trees and the lively chirping of birds returning to their nests.

"It's a full moon tonight." He announces with his back to her and face tilted up to said celestial body.

He's undoubtedly losing weight, and she doesn't know what more she can do to help. His back seems small in those loose-fitting clothes, she thinks, against the orange-blue backdrop of early evening outside. It's a strange thing to observe when he's always been tall gait and broad shoulders to her.

She can't see what he does from her seat, so she simply returns to the papers on her desk with an acknowledging hum. Jotting down the last few notes on the patient case file, she closes the folder and sets it aside before cracking open a new one.

"It's already been a month, huh," she says. "Time flies."

"It felt longer actually."

"Oh, I can see how." She checks to make sure she's getting correctly the kanji for the name of this thirty-year-old patient. Quite a rare spelling. "So much has been happening."

"I lost track of time," he says after a bit.

"Right, I need to get a clock for your room!" She grabs her notepad to scribble down a reminder.

"No, I mean-" There's a slow headshake in his tone "-the moon, it's beautiful."

She pauses mid letter despite herself and smiles, knowing he would never mean it like that. He's always been clueless in these matters. It's quite endearing.

"Is it ever ugly?"

In the unassuming silence the follows where he says nothing, she finishes writing with a firm press of her pen.

A clock would be good for him. The council is demanding he be drugged up half the time of a day, as if sealing his chakra down to half what normal shinobi needs to move about wasn't enough. Absolutely ludicrous! With his wounds healing, she's also run out of excuses for the daily visits that probably used to help him orientate, too.

"I guess not," he finally says with hints of a chuckle, his shoulders slouching a little more.

Putting away the notepad, she resumes her work again. The key to optimism is to focus on what can be done, rather than what cannot. Being with Naruto taught her as much.

The test results for this patient is fairly straight-forward. Just malnutrition and lack of sleep, a combination not entirely uncommon these days with so much work still needs to be done in Konoha.

They were going through something close to an upheaval. Her shishō has been pushing for changes left and right, sometimes rather ham-fistedly (but with no less cunning), taking advantage of the smoke and debris of war that has yet to settle.

For all the newness of the situation, even the chaos is beginning to bleed into routine after a month. Adaptation is a truly amazing thing.

She prescribes the man two types of supplements and makes some additional notes for his discharge tomorrow.

"I lose track of time staring at it," Sasuke says.

"Ah, me too."

"Hn."

"I look at it sometimes when I can't sleep." It was in fact the only thing that got her through many sleepless nights for a while, but her words sound trite to her own ears, like some blatant ingratiation to force a connection with him.

She doesn't care to look for the hints, but she does wonder if Sasuke has taken offense. He's never had patience for people who pretended to understand, and she's still not sure she does. Perhaps she would never.

"Aa, I end up watching it most nights."

"I'm sorry, I wish I could give you some sleeping aid." He's rapidly developing monstrous tolerance for their tranquilizers, and she can only worry for his constitution after this is over.

"No. It's nothing I haven't been through. Some of the drugs Orochimaru gave me before also made sleep impossible. There wasn't much to do outside of training and traveling."

"Right." But she's not sure what is, because to be honest everything he just said is all wrong in her mind. He was barely over thirteen.

"The lulls in between are the worst," she says noncommittally, but it's perhaps the one thing they could agree on—he and she, both being single-minded people.

"The moon was there no matter where I was. Wasn't hard to form a habit."

She keeps her eyes on the paperwork but fails to concentrate on the words between her hands. Her throat is suddenly dry. She hasn't realized they could just talk about his time away from Konoha like this. She thought she wasn't allowed to know about the him of that period. He's proven as much when he left her on that bench all those years ago.

But maybe that night has never held much significance to him. Maybe from his point of view, he only did the sensible thing, what was probably best for her, if not himself, and she's the only one who's still sore, who treats it like the landmine it's not.

"All those times, it never occurred to me. That's…beauty."

Something in the movement of the air tugs at her attention then. She looks up and gapes at the sight of him standing precariously tall on the edge of the windowsill.

"S-Sasuke-kun!"

She runs to him in an instant, knocking over some folders on her way over. Even one arm down, he turns around on the narrow ledge with grace not unexpected of a shinobi. Still, her heart skips an ugly beat.

His inky hair is tousled, bleeding into the cooling sky; his flawless skin paler than the glaring full moon at his back. Mismatched eyes unblinking, he watches her for explanation.

"You need to get down from there."

"Why?"

She's sure she had a good reason, but she can only come up with, "It's dangerous."

"We're on the first floor."

"I-I know."

But something about the him right now unsettles her.

"Just- Get down, please."

He considers her words for a moment and dips his head a fraction. "Alright." And he turns around and leaps out before her wide eyes. She only knows to reach for him on pure instinct.

"Wait!"

.

"Oi Sakura." The baleful barb in his voice startles her as she hastily releases her grip on his ankle. He pushes himself off the ground to glare at her over his shoulder with a coal-black eye, looking about to pop a vein. There's a heated flush to his cheeks that matches the redness of his nose from having fallen face-first into the grass and dirt outside.

"I-I'm so sorry Sasuke-kun!"

She jumps over and kneels next to him as he sits up, green chakra glowing over the minor cuts on his face. He's as good as new in an instant.

"What was that for?" he asks as he accepts the handkerchief that she meekly holds out for him. It takes the better part of her control to keep from flinching where their fingers lightly brush.

She breaks eye contact from the intensity of his stare and considers lying before telling the truth. "Well, I-you scared me."

"I scared you."

"N-no!" She snaps her gaze back to him. "Not you. More like…what you did."

"Hn." His shuttered tone says he's zeroed in on an instant he thinks she's referring to, and she clambers to clarify.

"You leapt out the window."

He huffs, eyes turning hard. "It takes more than half a meter drop to hurt me. I'm low on chakra, Sakura. Not crippled."

He stands and dusts himself off, no longer looking her in the eye. Well, if he wasn't offended before, he certainly is now. It's well-deserved, really, but somehow, she finds it easier to breathe.

She rises and tugs at his empty sleeve before he can walk away. "I'm not scared of you, Sasuke-kun."

She speaks for no one else, but this he has to know. She has to make sure he knows, because it's probably the insecurity that pervades him these days. That he courts unrest and dissension. That he's that something to fear, and be shunned and left in isolation and neglect.

That he's somehow less human than the next boy.

She looks into his eyes until she sees the hardness melts into resignation.

"But I still scared you."

Her heart quickens again. "That's because you jumped-"

"-out the window, you've mentioned," he says with an eye roll and something between agitation and a sigh.

There's a sting in the corner of her eyes she hopes is just reaction to the chilly wind. "You don't understand!"

"Aa, I'm still waiting."

"It- You-" Her voice is starting to crack. How she loathes that she's always showing him this lovelorn, pitiful part of her that she knows he doesn't care for. She feels eight-year-old again before him, small and bumbling, an unaccomplished mess, and he just stood back and watched her in all his dignified apathy.

"Sakura." His hand grips at her shoulder firmly, a dash of concern in his countenance. She blinks at the watery sheen in her eyes, wondering momentarily, where he still gets his strength from.

"I thought you were going to disappear." At his wide, blank stare, she averts her face, her tears spilling anew. She's aware her words are as silly as she feels.

That stillness to his demeanor, that foreign tranquility—like silence, like rippleless water. It occurs to her sometimes that maybe he's making peace. That he's given up before the fight even begins.

Then his suddenly far-too-baggy shirt fluttered in a gust of strong wind, lifting to reveal a vulnerability of skin and bones, the white bandages underneath and stark black seals carved all over his body. And the next moment, he leapt.

"Right then…I was…afraid…" The massive leaf canopy that hangs over them rustles wildly. She picks at the hem of her coat, looking everywhere but at him.

He feels empty and faded when he's like this. Calm. Placid. Like he could be gone if she blinked too slowly. And then she'd wonder if the reason for this all is that she's actually just another one who can't forgive, another one who can only associate him with tumult and discord, despite all her vocal averment for his goodness.

His grip slipping from her shoulder draws her gaze back to him. He's looking down to where she's holding a fistful of his empty sleeve, and he wraps his hand over hers, the calluses on his palm grazing her knuckles with such gentleness, it hurts.

She lets go and steps back, never expecting him to step forward and pulls her against his chest.

"S-Sasuke-kun!?"

She flushes. Her body goes rigid as the weight of his chin rests over the top of her head and his large hand fits behind her neck. Her arms are crushed between their chests, and she smells medicine and grass; the spice of detergent in his clothes, the saltiness of the gauzes beneath.

"Sakura." His voice thrums deep against her forehead, through the skin of his throat. "I made up my mind, you know. I'm not going anywhere."

"O-oh, that's…great."

Nothing is said for a while, and they remain in that position. He shows no sign of budging, and she's not sure she has ever had it in her to break away from him.

"You're worried about me."

His scent, the coolness of his skin. His faint, beating heart against her thundering one. She chokes when she feels his thumb on her earlobe.

"Right?"

"Y-yeah."

"And you're not afraid of me."

"I'm not." She shakes her head the best she can in his embrace.

"Promise me one thing."

"O-kay."

His chest expands in a deep breath.

"Don't go anywhere, either."

.

_Ah, how sly, Sasuke-kun._

_._

She curls her fingers into the front of his shirt and nods against his chest. "I promise I'm not going anywhere."

.

.

.

.

Sasuke adjusts the angle of his chin against her headband, the metal sapping heat from his skin on contact. Sakura's grown wonderfully, he thinks, so able and strong; might walk so far out of his grasp, no dōjutsu in the world can find her for him, when all he's known of her for so long are naïve smiles and spindly arms and legs.

When they finally part, he wipes gingerly at the corner of her eye. They both know that this is in no way fair, because they are both the sort that looks far ahead, and even though she is certain to keep her words, he might never be able to keep his.

But the heat of her breaths breathes something tenacious into his chest, seeping into his lungs, and bones and marrows.

And for at the very least tonight, he decides he will not be going anywhere far away from her.

* * *

**A/N:** I think that as much as Sakura saves Sasuke, Sasuke saves Sakura too. Before they're husband and wife, they're both children lost in the traumas of their past.


	6. foment (Married AU)

For SasuSakuTwitFest Day 6.

Prompt: Marriage x "Idiot, we're married." x Sasuke catches Sakura.

All 3 used, loosely.

Unedited.

* * *

**foment** (verb) – to stir public opinion; to incite rebellion

["Only time will tell, so I think I'll stay a bit longer." Sasuke and Sakura get married, and the world makes their wedding its business.]

―

_Twenty-five years old-_

The ornaments in her hair tickle her cheek and wake her from thoughts as the car slows to a stop. Without a second wasted, the door opens and the roof simultaneously lifts and reveals her to the chilly outside.

Sakura squints beneath the wataboshi and takes in the imposing torii gate, vibrantly red, the white sunlight that lands upon it, glitters on even whiter snow.

Her breath frosts. She takes the black-gloved hand that is offered in assistance and steps out of the car.

The heavy shiromuku spills all around her, layers and layers of woven fabric and intricate embroideries that blend seamlessly into the ground. She feels, rather than sees, the presence of the surrounding crowd.

Sasuke stands just a few steps away, in some hushed conversation with Kakashi.

He reminds Sakura of a picturesque ink painting. Their eyes met as she approaches, and she flushes under the fine powder on her cheeks. The dark silk of his haori has nothing, she thinks, on the depthlessness of his eyes.

Under the steady weight of his stare, the jitters beneath her obi settle. She holds her head infinitesimally taller and returns his smile.

(She might just drown if she stares too long.)

.

Her own gait is unfamiliar with the clunky pair of high heels, and the trailing robes hinders, but she keeps pace with him without struggle.

His and her ceremony, every bit meant to be a private affair, made headlines a full week before the day of.

There isn't much to the procession when neither of them has any blood family left to speak of.

But as they walk on the stone-paved path that ducks beneath a vault of wintry branches and leads deeper into the shrine, out of sight his bodyguards and the local authorities are keeping an eye out for uninvited guests.

There is no wonder that the media shakes with excitement as it makes a debate out of this wedding. The last living Uchiha and heir to an enormous fortune finally settles down, and his bride is a clanless, meritless girl from the shadier side of the city.

Sakura supposes from an outsider's view it's either serendipitous love or a gold-digging scheme. Either interpretation is halfway condescending.

The priest asks the gods for their happiness after the cleansing ceremony. She bows and solemnly accepts the blessing. (A voice in the back of her head tells her to hide, twist further into this deceptive white shroud because she can scrub the very skin off her flesh and still not be rid of stains.)

The sake is well-aged and has a subtle touch of apple and steamed rice. Three cups and nine sips later, they made their vows.

"Until death, Sakura." The oath is careful and quiet, but also sure. His beautiful fingers graze her callused ones and squeeze the pink-painted tips.

It's unapologetically Sasuke to be so few of words. But what he says, he means; and in that helplessly forward way it is heartfelt. She holds his unwavering gaze and smiles.

"'til death, Sasuke-kun."

They bow once more to the overseeing gods. From this moment forth, she is Uchiha Sakura.

.

She changes into a hikifurisode with blooming myrtles cascading down its tail, the uchiwa ripples at the end of long, sweeping sleeves.

"My best wishes to the groom and bride," Tobirama, immaculately dressed in a suit and tie, tells them over a raised cup of sake, his eyes dark and glinting, and amicable crow feet.

Sakura stands a little closer to Sasuke. The Senju elder couldn't have been any more displeased by this turn of events.

Those who support their marriage can probably be counted on one hand, but the reception is still a big splash with all the prominent faces congregating at the Uchiha compound. All headache-inducing politics, but there's copious food and sake to make up for it.

Sasuke has an easy smirk on his face as noisy cheers erupt around them. Up until yesterday, he was still scowling, his foot tapping something furious underneath the kitchen table, as Kakashi prepped him for the social side of the gathering.

It doesn't take very long for him to be pulled away from Sakura's side for conversations beyond the scope of the occasion, and she's left to entertain the other guests.

"Sakura-san, you and the Uchiha brat. Who would've thought?" Mei says with a grin and a half that Sakura can't help reciprocate.

"Give or take, at least half of Konoha people, Mizukage-sama."

"Don't be a stranger now, hmm?" Mei gives her an inquisitive head tilt, and Sakura falters. (She's never sure where she stands with others anymore, after everything, and now bearing the Uchiha name.) Thankfully, she never has to come up with a response when the Mizukage simply goes on.

"You know how gossip media is all over the place." Mei wrinkles her nose and twists her brightly painted lips. "I could do without. It's hard enough dating at my age. I say, the random person on the street can be more critical than my own parents now. Just because I also happen to lead them, haa..."

Sakura laughs a little more genuinely. "Sounds like peace, Mei-san."

Mei's chuckles fade into a forlorn sigh as she cradles her cheek. "Oh, I hear that, I do. What a time to be alive. Or Kage. Poor old Tobirama, really." She shrugs and trails off for a moment before looking back to Sakura.

"Regardless of what happens from now on, I'm glad you two found each other, Sakura-san." Mei holds up her sake. "To your union."

Their cups tap with a small clink.

.

Perhaps with you at his side, something will change.

.

All things considered, Sakura hasn't expected to receive much honest well-wishing, and she didn't. That one such wish came from a figure holding as much stake as the Mizukage took her by surprise. Then again, Mei has always been a romantic at heart, Sakura just forgot that, like she has forgotten other things.

Maybe one day she'll even forget how to heal.

"Be happy, Sakura-chan." Here's another honest wish, even though Naruto's eyes look so sad as he says it. He's arrived late from work, still in the sooty grey jacket of his Anbu uniform but distinctly more groomed and polished than he is often known for.

"Promise me." He insists.

Guilt hasn't been something she associates with Naruto for a while now. They've been at this for long enough to know what he wants and what she wants don't align. He hasn't met his match, is all; she is no loss to cry over. But tonight, the gnawing returns as she tells him.

"I promise."

The way he grins without reserve, the whisker-like marks on his cheeks, it overlaps with a million other times in the past that he's smiled at her.

She's promised the same before the gods too, but this promise rings differently. It's personal—raw. Real, rather than surreal.

When Sasuke reappears beside her, Naruto wastes no time to raise his voice.

"How could you go and leave Sakura-chan all alone like this, huh? Bastard! Tch, not even half a day's gone by and already disrespecting the sacred vow." Naruto shakes his head in dramatic disapproval.

"She and I married, captain. It's not as if we became conjoined." At Sasuke's dry tone, Naruto throws his head back and cackles uncontrollably, much to her husband's puzzlement. Sakura smiles into her sip of sake.

(Her husband. Husband. She keeps testing the words in her head and they're more agreeable than the last time.)

"Whatever, don't you ever break her heart, you hear me?"

Sasuke gives her a sidelong, searching look, and she can see the words being weighted behind his eyes.

"I don't believe I can," he says, light smile on his lips, before wincing in annoyance at Naruto's hearty shoulder slaps.

.

In the ebbing hours of the wedding, she quietly leads Sasuke away from the celebration. His people—hers too now, she supposes—can take care of the rest.

Even when he maintains his stilly decorum, she can tell he's already drunk near out of his mind, that he keeps his eyes on the ground just to walk straight, his hand clinging onto hers rather painfully. He didn't even have much to drink, only the conversational shots exchanged between dialogues.

They end up in the lamplit garden, where the sound of running water and crisp snap of the shishi-odoshi fill the silence between them.

Snow crunches beneath their feet. The night air smells silvery compared to a stuffy, crowded dining hall.

"Oi..."

Sasuke tugs on her hand that he still hasn't let go of, to turn her to him; he's closer than she expected. The shadows flicker across the straight bridge of his nose and smooth, flawless skin. She can see the fine little white hair on his cheekbone as his face draws even nearer, his eyes dark, darker than this moonless night.

Their noses brush lightly, tentatively that it's sweet, that her heart quickens. Their combined breaths drift away from between them, and she can taste alcohol on the warm, heady air. Even up close he doesn't look all that wasted, with that sheen of clarity in his eyes, or maybe she's pretty tipsy herself.

She closes her eyes, closes the last few millimeters between their lips. A quick, chaste kiss. And another. His lips are softer than you'd expect. Without disentangling their fingers, he brings his other hand up to angle against her jaw, neither rough nor gentle. Just firm, and it's anchoring.

There's the sound of a shutter going off, instantly muffled by a clear tap of the shishi-odoshi.

She licks the tang of apple sake from his lips. (Maybe…drowning wouldn't be all that bad an ending.)

.

.

.

Sasuke wakes up dry-mouthed and to a nasty pounding in his head. The chill in the room hits his naked skin the next moment, and he curls up inside the futon.

His vision is blurry, his extremities weak. He bites down on another groan and brings a shaky hand to his head. If he didn't already know misery, he'd say this is it and it is never, ever happening a second time.

Now it occurs to him that someone other than him has laid out the futon. He buries his face into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, a suffering groan, and stench of alcohol on his tongue. There is no recollection as to how he's even made it to the bedroom.

What he does remember is Naruto's dumb face, a look of loss braved by loud guffaws and half-jokes that were completely serious. Advice unasked for is no different from spit in the face.

Who does Naruto think he is, anyway, prying into her and Sasuke's business? (And that's what it is: business)

The angle of the light on the tatami tells him it's still morning, a little later than he normally wakes. After a small battle with the heavy blanket, it takes him a few more minutes to gather his bearings to pull on a kimono and make his way to the kitchen.

Out in the living area, he finds Sakura slumped over by the coffee table with a small army of sake cans standing watch at her side. A blanket is draped snuggly over her shoulders.

He slides the door shut behind him, more discreet than when he's opened it.

"Nn, good morning, Sasuke-kun."

He pauses mid pouring a glass of water and meets her gaze that's half-hidden behind mussed pink locks.

"Maybe."

She giggles into her arms she uses as makeshift pillows. He takes immediate aversion to the bubbly mood, and though he doesn't think he's letting it show, she seems to pick up on it anyway and grins a little wider.

"Take that with your water then." He follows her finger (small, he remembers; lightly rough to the touch) to a plastic bag perching near the edge of the table that he's assumed was just more sake. "Medicine. I asked Lee to get it since I figured you'd be in need. He told me I was most youthful." She giggles again in some private joke.

Sasuke sits down across from her, their socked feet touching in the small space beneath the table. He's careful not to knock over the empty cans, pushed haphazardly toward his side of the table to allow Sakura the rest of the surface, and rummages through the bag's content.

The medicine is hidden underneath several unopened sake cans, a small tube with bright labeling that he brings up to the light for examination. Not that he has any expertise in this branch of products to judge.

"Save some for me."

"Hn."

He drops two tablets into the water according to the fine prints and watches them dissolve into clear white foam.

Sakura is still sprawled out on the table and playing with one of the cans. The sun rays seep through the kitchen window and settle on her face to deepen those greener shards in her eyes. There's a light flush to her cheeks, knots and tangles in her hair that she hasn't bothered undoing; some pink strands sticking to the side of her face as she returns his watchful gaze.

"Did you see the news?" When he remains silent, Sakura produces the phone he's recently given her, already decorated with all manners of animal stickers, and shows him the screen after a few quick taps.

He squints to see a picture of them from last night, wedding garbs and all, caught in the middle of what appears to be a kiss.

It was. He recalls now, doing something like that upon sensing the paparazzi, how she's been the one to lean in at the end. And the velvety taste of lipstick at the tip of his tongue. Without the haze of alcohol, it doesn't seem as good an idea anymore.

(At least, he thinks, that's a well-taken picture.)

"They're writing up a storm on us." She takes the phone back to scroll down a few times. "You should see the comment section."

"I'm fine."

"Oh." Her smile fades. Her hand, with the phone, retreats inside the blanket cocoon, and she drops to her cheek on the table. "It was my first kiss, you know," she says after a bit.

He stares at the top of her head. Her tone is light as far as he can tell, but his instincts tell him to apologize. And he does, even if he doesn't mean it.

"No." She sighs. "No. It's not like I was particularly saving it. There was just no good timing."

"I see." He picks up the glass and downs it in one breath and puts it back down none-too-graciously. Fruity, like melon. Maybe apple.

"You know, I've always had it in my head—nothing specific, just somewhere in the back, the idea that I'd marry someone I love. I mean, who else does the common person marry, anyway?"

"You're not the common person, Sakura." This he can say with certainty. Sasuke has no use for the common and run-of-the-mill.

She doesn't take it as a compliment as he intended. She shifts to rest her chin on her arms, staring up at him unimpressed. "No, I guess not," she says. "So, poison is no big deal, but it's alcohol that gets you."

"I suppose." He rubs at the bridge of his nose, feeling strangely on edge.

"Stay away from it from now, you're a boorish drunk."

"Aa, I can say the same for you."

Sasuke doesn't mean to sound annoyed, never mind that he is. He's usually more tolerant, a little more scrupulous even if not patient. (He's still not equipped to deal with this on a good day.) Her foot moves away from his as she draws her knees to her chest and tucks herself further into her cocoon.

Lee. Lee's fault for even buying this obscene amount of alcohol on top of the hangover medicine as if they weren't irony in a bag. Was it because Sakura also has a say in the house now?

As the silence stretches between them, he sighs. "Look-"

"How are you feeling?" She grabs one of the cans nearer to her and tips it against her lips for a sip.

He takes the out she's offering. "Aa, better." And in retrospect, like an idiot, for losing his temper over something so trivial. The hangover, he supposes.

"Shishō always said that brand worked faster than the rest."

"I can't say I'm impressed she was able to draw that conclusion."

Sakura laughs at that, a belly-laugh of when you find something genuinely funny, and he can't help but wonder if this is actually her default. This airy personality that's prone to smiles and giggles, that takes his words and doesn't dissect them for more than face value. More girl than woman.

And he wonders, where she disappears to on the days Sakura isn't drunk. Or if it's just him that hasn't experienced her before.

Compared to the usual Sakura, with the guarded melancholy and a guilt complex, this one is vastly different, and he's not sure how to use this information just yet.

Her laughter subsides and her smile fades by a shade. "I tried turning to alcohol before, too you know, but couldn't make it work quite like shishō."

Making alcohol work is an oxymoron unless you're Lee and in combat, and even that is a wild card as far as Sasuke is concerned. But he stays his tongue. She doesn't intend to rely on alcohol, and that's good enough for him. It's not his place to change her opinion on anything.

"If I'm this much of a mess right now…I can't imagine how much she's seen, at her age. Oh, but don't tell her I said that," she says with a little laugh as if he's going to be calling up Senju Tsunade for a friendly chat in the near future. "Shishō's strong."

"Hn, so are you."

Sakura takes another sip before placing the sake down with a soft clunk. "I'm going to wash my face," she announces and shimmies out of her cocoon, oddly reminiscent of his recent struggle with the futon. When she stands and knocks her knee into the table, sending the several empty cans clattering onto the floor, Sasuke rises as well and walks around the table to her side.

"Sorry…"

"It's fine."

"I'll get that." But she missteps and places her foot onto one of the rolling cans. From the way her limbs are completely relaxed as she falls backward, she would have hit her head on the floor if he wasn't already behind her.

He steadies her with an arm around her shoulders. Sakura turns her head and gives him a blank stare that tells him she's not all there. Near putty against his chest, and smells strongly of sake, just like last night.

"Sorry," she says after a bit.

"Don't do this anymore, it's unbecoming."

She smiles. "Of Uchiha?"

"Of you."

Her smile dims again; she gestures to the cans. "Just leave it. I'll clean up later."

"I'll do it. You already cleaned up after me last night."

"No, I-"

"Sakura, I'll do it." He squeezes her shoulder and attempts his best reassuring tone. "Go get a bath instead, you stink of sake."

She pushes away and rounds on him with a frown and huff. "Well hello, pot."

"I'll go after you."

"Hmph." She turns to leave.

As she opens the door, he calls after her. "If." She looks over her shoulder at him. "If it helps, that was also my first kiss."

Sakura blinks a few times, then laughs. "Not in the least. But it's pretty funny that you think it would, Sasuke-kun."

Is it? An eye for an eye; one first kiss for another. It makes sense in his mind, as it must in hers as well, even if she laughs about it. (Or does she laugh at it?)

"We're married, silly. Let's not keep scores, okay?"

With one last giggle, the door slides shut and he's left in the kitchen by himself.

He clears the cans away and rolls up the blanket she's left behind, he thinks about the sobering sound of shishi-odoshi and the night air nipping at his nose and cheeks; and waking up alone with the futon laid out just where he prefers. He thinks about bittersweet apple sake and compares it to the melon candy taste of the medicine on his tongue.

Her look of surprise and doubt when he asked for her hand. That moment when her hanko pressed firmly next to where his own seal was still drying.

After making sure everything is in order, Sasuke takes the blanket back to the bedroom.

So, she doesn't wish to keep scores.

He'll give that some more thought and decide what to with it later.

* * *

I might make this into a full story if there's enough interest, so let me know what you think so far!


	7. prehension (Supernatural AU)

**prehension** (noun) – gripping firmly, apprehension by the senses; understanding

["_See_ me." In the dead of night, the line between far shore and near shore, blurs.

They meet, and it's 23 years too late; but they might as well.]

—

_Have you heard about building B?_

.

A peeling coat of faded yellow paint, partly overtaken by chalk graffiti and moss. The building is a little worn and faded, more obviously ill-maintained compared to the rest of the school.

Classes haven't been held here for years now, ever since a newer building was founded right next to it.

The hallways are lined with locked doors. There are crisscrossing caution tapes blocking off stairways, and the dust-caked windows are bolted shut, leaving the air thick and musty.

.

_A senior died there twenty years ago. They say the ghost of that student still walks those empty corridors even now._

.

.

.

It's when she's wandering through the east wing of the second floor that Sakura comes across him in one of the storage rooms.

Rows of stacked desks and chairs are pushed against the wall at the side, and miscellaneous items crowd the cobwebbed shelves. He's sitting by the window on the opposite side of the entrance, chin in his palm as he stares out the dirty, moon-glazed glass.

He seems to be a senior, but she can't be sure. The colored tie that's supposed to set the grades apart is missing from his uniform ensemble.

Sakura's heart has jumped from sheer surprise upon catching sight of him in the corner; now it begins to speed for an altogether different reason.

He has a sharp profile and endless dark eyes that's framed by long thick lashes. His equally dark hair contrasts a pale skin, washed colorless by the moonlight, and millions of dust particles float lazily around him.

It's an otherworldly sight that sends goosebumps up the sides of her arms, and her better instincts tell her to leave immediately and leave him be.

Still, her feet remain glued to the spot by the door as she smooths clammy palms against the knitted sweater she wears over her uniform.

It wouldn't be a stretch to say it was love at first sight. Quite a loaded situation for lightning to be striking, too, and there's no sense to it at all. She just knows he's taken her heart without having to lift a finger.

"Annoying…"

She hears him mutter. His voice is deep, so quiet that she might have missed it if not for the silence.

"You there."

Before Sakura can react, the boy turns his head and looks straight at her.

.

.

_If you ever come across the ghost, no matter what you do, never look it in the eyes._

_._

She gasps and takes a step back, her puny heart leaping to the hollow of her throat.

When he drops down from his perch, his height unfurls. He's probably a good head taller than her. With the moon at his back, his eyes don't glow in the dark or anything, not even the slightest glimmer, but she senses the weight of cold lead from them all the same.

.

_You'll meet a terrible end._

.

"Those eyes are quite something," he says, and Sakura hastily lowers her gaze away, her stomach twisting into nauseous knots. Oh god, oh god, what has she done? She shouldn't have looked, shouldn't have dallied around.

"I-I'm sorry."

She sees his shadow on the gritty tiled floor, looming closer, and considers fleeing. But then again, she has a feeling she wouldn't get very far.

"I'm sorry," she says again, wringing her shaky fingers together. "For staring. I'm so sorry."

"Look at me." He's still approaching her, and she begins to make out the mud on his shoes, how his uniform is disheveled in that rolled-around-in-in-the-dirt way, opened at the neck to reveal the strong lines of his collarbones.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's fine. Lift your face."

Sakura shakes her head no and squeezes her eyes closed for good measure. She hears him sigh.

"Sasuke."

Though it was out of nowhere, what startles Sakura more is that his voice has come from right in front of her. She can feel him, well inside her personal space and blocking the moonlight.

Her heart is in overdrive. She blindly takes a step back and almost trips over herself.

"Wh-what?"

"Name?"

She puts a hand to her chest to try and contain the beating there. Her thoughts are a jumbled mess. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Name. Yours."

It takes her a moment more before she finally gathers her wits. "S-Sakura…"

"Sakura, huh." He says her name in this slow, considering drawl, and Sakura flushes anew. Can he see her blush? Can he see the effect he has on her? What will he do, knowing this? She tugs at the long sleeves of her sweater and brings them up to hide her face. She never thought it to be the case, but she's exactly the type to get tricked by men, isn't she?

"U-um, Sasuke…san?"

"Drop the 'san.'"

"I'm sorry…"

"Stop apologizing, annoying."

"I'm so—okay…" Sakura cringes, her head sinking between her shoulders. She can still feel his gaze on her, feel self-conscious about her large, sweaty forehead, and every strand of hair that's out of place. Having her eyes closed only makes it worse. "Sasuke…kun…then?"

He makes a noise in his throat, and it's hard to tell if he's displeased or not.

"You shouldn't stay here, Sakura."

She loves it, Sakura decides, when he uses her name, regardless of context. It sends this warm fluttering down to the pit of her belly.

"…Well, neither should you," she says from behind her sleeves. "…Sasuke-kun." She tests and can't help another rush of heat in her cheeks.

Sasuke's silent for a length before saying, "Fair."

"Let's both leave then," he says, and it takes her a moment to respond.

"Huh?"

"You and I. Let's leave here together."

She's not sure what to say to that, not even sure if she quite understands, but she can't deny she likes how he's said it.

She likes it a lot.

"Sakura." Her skin ripples again. When he says nothing else, she cracks her eyes open to take in the chest of his shirt, missing a few buttons; the hand that he's holding out to her. (There's dried blood on his knuckles, under his nails.)

"No?" He presses, and she wants to shake her head and tell him it's not even close to no. It's scary how much she wants to take that proffered hand, damn the consequences. And because of exactly that she holds back, tucks her hands closer to her chest to restrain herself.

"I…"

She watches with a held breath as his hand looms so near she can make out the callused spots on his palm and smell burnt smoke on top of the rust of blood. His fingers skirt near her chin, her windpipe, but not quite touching.

"Look at me," he stresses, "when you speak."

"No…I…"

"Our eyes already met. What are you still holding back for?"

Her breaths grow shallow as her pulses quicken into deafening booms. Sakura can't find fault with his argument, though she's not sure if it isn't just because she's also tempted for justification to look at him again.

(A part of her hopes, maybe the curse can be reversed by pretending their eyes never met.)

"It'll be fine," he says, and she's so tempted to believe him.

Sakura swallows, her mouth dry. Her eyes dart tentatively up a few times before she finds it in her to look at him. (She has to crane her neck to even meet his gaze.) Her chest tightens as she stares into his eyes, transfixed by their depths. Most of all, his mouth quirks in this little pleased, knowing smirk, and it's unfair.

"Come with me, Sakura."

That's unfair, too.

Sakura doesn't think she's afraid of him anymore. Never was, actually. But what he's offering is unknown to her, and that's scary. Leave with him to where? For what purpose other than just deserting this forsaken building?

"I don't know how." Sakura looks away. She's aware that she's not saying no, and the reality is that she no longer cares.

She just wants to be with someone so badly she might have followed anyone else, and Sasuke—Sasuke feels right. Perhaps this back and forth between them has only ever had one ending.

He holds out his hand to her, gesturing for her to just take it. She unclenches her fists.

"It'll be okay?"

"Aa."

"Promise me-" Her voice cracks. She screws her eyes shut and sucks in a breath as if all her unshed tears would disappear along with it. "Sasuke-kun. Promise me you'll be okay, 'cause I can't-"

"Promise."

His gaze is unwavering. Sakura chews at her lower lip. When her fingertips hover over his and hesitate, he only patiently waits, and it gives her that extra shred of confidence. With one last steadying breath, she slides her hand onto his and gasps audibly from the feel of his skin against hers.

His palm is rough like she's imagined. Large.

So warm.

Human.

It's been too long—twenty-three years in fact, since she last felt another's touch, and the sudden swell of emotions is enough to choke her.

Sasuke's strong fingers encase hers, interlace with hers and the firm grip brings such immense relief that she only knows to burst into tears.

"You're with me from now on," he tells her as he wipes at her cheek with his thumb, and she sobs harder. Through the blur of tears, Sakura can see him smile, see his eyes bleed a haunting, spinning red. They're beautiful. Hypnotic. As if she isn't already ensnared in his web.

"Okay." She grips back at his hand just as firmly.

She thinks, they will be okay after all.

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

**_Omake:_**

The school ground is quiet as they slip out through a broken window on the first floor, and Sakura can't help but be nervous as she takes her first step past a point that up until just yesterday she wasn't able to cross.

She's tried to leave many, many times, only for her legs to freeze and her mind to be overcome with an irrational need to retreat to the very heart of the building. Where she belonged. Alone.

None of that tonight. Sakura passes building D and reaches the quad, drinking in her surrounding in quiet wonder as she trails behind Sasuke.

A lot has changed from the school in her memory, but the general layout is still the same, from where the statue of the town's founder proudly stands, to the red eaves that hang over the guard office. They overlap with her hazy memories and fills her with a familiarity that eases her nerves.

Building A is still there as well, looking only a little less rundown compared to her building.

(Hers. No matter how lonely, it had been home.)

Sakura looks to the boy at her side; her new haunt, her tether. (Hers.) She still knows nothing about him beyond the name Sasuke. And those red eyes that have faded back to black soot is sure to be a loaded topic, too.

There are many things she wants to ask him, but she decides she'll take her time learning. The truth is she has nothing but time.

"What?"

She's all giddy from that single glance he spares. Does he have to be so cool from every angle? Her gaze drops to his bloodied knuckles.

"Do your hands hurt?"

"Not really."

"Did you hurt them breaking into the building?"

"No."

Sakura tries to contain an amused grin. She can see him being quite a frustrating conversational partner in the future, but for now she's quite enjoying it. "How did you hurt yourself then?"

He doesn't say anything for a while, and she can see the cogwheels working rapidly behind his faraway gaze. "Trash disposal," he tells her, a full ten seconds later that she has to wonder what exactly he's filtered out before coming to that answer. He pats her head. "Don't worry about it. I clean up pretty well."

As they leave the school ground and continue walking in silence, Sakura thinks about the smoke she's smelled on him. Has she gotten involved with a pretty dangerous person after all?


End file.
